


brain scan

by Darvyn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Developing Story, Experimental, Familial Issues, Gen, Non-Romantic Relationships, POV First Person, no update schedule, watch as i project myself onto my fave character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darvyn/pseuds/Darvyn
Summary: The stream of consciousness for our favorite fake cool kid.





	brain scan

I’m fine.

You know it. I know it.

That’s all there is to it.

If I was being real with you, you’d know that I didn’t always used to be fine.

There were days when I’d lose it a little.

Days when I let my emotions get the best of me.

I’d scream and sob in the comfort of an empty home.

Grasping my shoulders with a bruising force as the negative emotions would wrack through my body.

The rush of endorphins as I allowed my facade to disappear for a little bit.

Pitifully curling up in the fetal position and wallowing in the negativity.

Kinda pathetic to be honest.

It took a while but I finally got the hang of it.

I got so good at suppressing everything that I don’t even feel the negativity any more.

Even as I sit here and try to remember how shitty I used to feel, I’m having trouble because I got so fucking good at hiding it.

But it’s okay.

In fact, it’s fucking great.

I’m glad that I don’t wallow in the sadness anymore.

That I don’t physically curl in on myself because the world was too fucking hard for me to deal with.

Yeah I know it’s unhealthy.

You don’t have to fucking tell me, I hear it enough already.

But fuck it.

This is what works for me.

And as long as I continue to feel good, I don’t plan on fucking stopping.

 

 

 

* * *

 

We’re getting older.

For some that means getting saggy tits.

For others that means that you get sentimental.

For my brother, he’s getting softer.

Despite how good I’ve gotten at suppressing my emotions, I still feel fucking infuriated when dealing with him.

He’s a shit person, but he’s family.

I get a sense of sadistic glee when I see him swipe at his eyes after an especially scathing remark.

But then I feel regret.

And it’s fucking disgusting.

He did so much fucking shit to me, and I’m regretting making him fucking cry just a few tears?

The tiny fucking globules of water falling from his face absolutely fucking pale in comparison to how many fucking times I’ve cried because of this shit bucket.

But I still feel fucking bad.

Despite the fact that he never felt any regret as he fucking pinned me to the ground with a fucking sword at my back.

Or the time I fell down some fucking stairs because of him.

Or the fact that he had no fucking idea how to raise a fucking child.

Maybe this just means that I’m the bigger person in all of this.

Fuck, I don’t want to be the bigger person.

But as I look at him, slumped over, old and tired.

Mouth turned into a forced frown, his lower lip just barely quivering.

A single fresh tear escaping the cover of his shitty sunglasses.

I know that my face is twisted into a scowl, but I manage to force it into an impassive expression.

I start to walk past him, but I give him a single pat on his shoulder and my usual apology.

_‘m sorry bro._

__

* * *

Rose likes to tease me.

That shit hasn’t changed in all the years that we’ve known each other.

She says that my inability to properly express my emotions is because of the toxic masculinity that bro drilled into me. And yeah, it was that at first.

But at this point it’s just easier for me and myself.

She says that it’s unhealthy.

_I know._

I respond for the millionth time.

She knows that I know.

And she also knows that I have no fucking intentions of changing that any time soon.

Why fix what ain’t broke?

I’ve already come to terms with the fuckery bro put me through.

We’re working it out.

I still hate his guts at times, and I tell this to Rose.

She sympathizes, which I appreciate.

She insists that I should talk it out with him, which I will definitely never fucking do, thank you very much.

She sighs.

I tell her to worry about her own fucking relationship.

There’s nothing to worry about though. I already know that Kanaya is planning on proposing later this month.

I reiterate that I have no long term dating plans.

I can feel her rolling her eyes at me from two thousand miles away.

She asks me to call her more often.

_Will do, g‘night Rose._

I hang up.

* * *

I’m having a rough day.

I know I know.

I was just going on and on about how fucking good I am at suppressing my emotions and shit. But even so, there are days when it’s particularly hard.

Today is one of those days.

I’m ready to head back home since I’ve completed my brotherly shoulder rubbing quota for the rest of the year.

I’m also eager to get out of this stifling heat. Only to get into a different stifling heat, but at least California has places that I actually want to work at.

And currently do work at.

Bro insists on driving me to the airport.

I insisted that he really didn’t have to.

You already know who won this little spat.

So yeah, it’s a shit day.

I’m sitting in the front of Bro’s truck and fucking around on my phone, spitefully ignoring his glances.

He has the audacity to look sad, and it annoys the shit out of me.

Fuck him.

It’s his own damn fault that I don’t wanna fucking be around him.

We’re almost to the airport when he finally says something.

He asks when I plan on visiting next, his voice even.

I really gotta applaud his tactic. Asking me shit right before we arrive at our destination, so I don’t have enough time to get pissed.

Well too fucking bad bro, I’m already fucking pissed.

 _I dunno_.

I manage to grit those two words out.

He nods curtly, he didn’t miss the venom in my voice.

I pointedly ignore him and scroll through instagram for the seventh time. There’s nothing new, but I keep my eyes trained on the screen.

He’s saying something else.

Oh.

Son of a bitch.

The words replay several times in my head, “ _Thanks for visitin’_.”

And now I feel guilty again.

He pulls into the domestic flights terminal and steps out to hand me my backpack.

An improvement from when he literally threw my shit down the stairs when I was leaving home for the first time.

It isn’t heavy, I was only here for a week after all.

He awkwardly ruffles my hair and I smack his hand away.

.  
.  
.

I begrudgingly give him a hug.

Striders don’t hug.

But I do it anyways. He’s stiff, I’m stiff. It’s fucking awkward, but I do it anyways because I feel bad.

Fucking asshole.

When I’m forty thousand feet above the ground, I let a couple tears spill out from behind my glasses.

_It’s the altitude’s fault._

I quietly mumble the lie to myself while looking at the patchwork quilt of fields miles below.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a small thing I work on occasionally when I'm in the right [write, lol] mood. I might mark as complete later because I really have no idea when I might add more.
> 
> It's been sitting in my drafts for the past couple weeks and I wanna finally post it too. As usual, feedback is appreciated but not necessary.
> 
> Best.


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